


Game Change

by Aithilin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Implied Violence, M/M, Snippet, snapshot fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1919634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment when they realize that they aren't quite on opposing sides any more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game Change

When it was over— and neither was quite sure how it started; there was something about a third party wanting blood— they stood across from each other again. They had to leave, both knew that. There was enough evidence to easily mistake the scene for a bloody gang takeover that resulted in the murder of nearly half the leadership. They both knew how the media would spin it, how the police would interpret it. 

How Sherlock would refuse to investigate. How Moriarty would raze the territory until it was filled with wealthy young families he could start fresh with.

When it was over— as they emerged from their stupor and rage, as Jim’s men cleared the area and Sherlock was pushed back against a wall and cleared as a nonthreat— they realized that their eyes hadn’t broke contact until one of Jim’s men got in the way. 

The second they couldn’t see each other, couldn’t be lost in each other, in the adrenaline, Sherlock chuckled. 

He never was a good person. 

"I thought you didn’t like to get your hands dirty."

Jim was _there_ , inches from him, in a handful of long strides. His men ready to remove the source of aggression with a word, even as they repositioned the dead around them and wiped traces of the consultants from the room. Jim was _there_. And Sherlock could feel his breath. 

Soon, the adrenaline would wear off. They’d both be leeched and lethargic, jittery and in a come-down cycle. Soon they would collapse into their own beds, and face dreamless sleep to recover— because there was nothing their quick minds hadn’t already processed and rationalized. There were nightmares waiting for them. Despite the blood and violence, and unexpected turn, they weren’t crawling out like wounded animals. They weren’t functioning on instinct. They weren’t _lost_ like the others— dead and alive— around them. 

Here. Now. They were _there_. Together. 

"You’re not for this life, angel." Breath crossed his lips and Sherlock couldn’t stop smiling. 

"Don’t call me that, James."

"Kitten." Jim didn’t budge, didn’t move. They were locked together with centimetres of shared air between them. "Pet. Love."

When it was over, and they stood together, neither could remember exactly what confrontation they had come here for. Whatever ultimatum either had intended to present seemed far less important now. Now their Game was changing. They were no longer on entirely opposite sides. 

It was Sherlock who closed the distance.


End file.
